Day 9
23 December 2025
The day dawned cold, as it had every day, yet the awareness of its finality made each moment feel sharper, more precious.
Today would be the last full day of noble silence; tomorrow, we would speak again. The thought made my heart both flutter and ache.
The familiar rhythm held us; gong at 4 am, assembly at 4:30, meditation, breakfast, meditation, lunch, more meditation, tea, more meditation.
Even now, my fingers and legs tingled with numbness from hours of stillness. The cold bit deeper than ever, a reminder that the body holds memory as much as the mind.
Outside, the same breathtaking vistas awaited; snow-capped mountains, the vast, silent sky, the waxing moon rising over the distant peaks. Sunlight glinted off the edges of frozen branches, the orange glow of sunset painting everything in awe.
My mind wished to capture it all, yet I had no device to smuggle a photograph; just the raw, unfiltered beauty of the moment, imprinted directly onto memory.
I walked among my fellow meditators, observing their silent practices. Some lay on the grass, fully clothed, facing the sun; some stood with palms in prayer; others paced slowly, taking in the warmth. Even the teachers, elders who guided us tirelessly from 4:30 am, were human; a nod, a murmur, a slight doze and yet their dedication never faltered. I silently saluted them.
Meditation continued. The Dhamma discourse played in the evening, Goenka’s voice gently guiding, reflecting, reading our unspoken thoughts. A smile, a suppressed chuckle, a quiet human moment; glimpses of life within discipline.
As I returned to the dormitory under the ink-black sky, my mind traced each step, each creaking stair, each shadowy corner of the centre.
The cold was sharp, almost a tangible presence, urging me to move swiftly, carefully. I prepared for rest, layering sleeping bag, blankets and extra comforters, feeling both gratitude and a touch of melancholy.
Lying there, I thought of home, of those I loved, of what had been lost and what remained.
Silence enveloped me, yet it no longer felt heavy; it was tender, protective, a cocoon of reflection.
And as sleep claimed me, I counted the last steps in silence, carrying forward lessons of patience, awareness and quiet joy.
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